


Probed

by ZhoraKys



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alien Abduction, BDSM, Dubious Consent, Masochism, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 19:54:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18453503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZhoraKys/pseuds/ZhoraKys
Summary: Good boy Trip Tucker gets captured, restrained, and sexually tortured by a shapeshifting alien. 100% pure artisanal sci-fi fetish porn.





	Probed

It was dark when Trip woke up. He quickly wished he hadn’t. His head was pounding as hard as if he’d polished off a mickey of bourbon the previous evening. 

He supposed it was possible he _had._ The last thing he could remember was staring at himself in the little square mirror over the sink in his quarters, brushing his teeth before bed. He had no sense of what time it was now, but the weight of his eyelids and the empty churning of his stomach told him that several hours had passed. 

Trip's head pounded a steady, protesting rhythm as he tried to look around the room. At first he couldn’t see much of anything, but as his eyes adjusted he began to make out some detail. An assortment of metallic panels marked the perimeter of the space and reflected what little light there was. Boxes and nodes of varying sizes lent texture to the slightly curved planes of the walls. The floor -- what he could see of it -- was an impenetrable black mass; Trip suspected it was textured in some way that didn’t reflect light.

_Speaking of light…_

He craned his neck, twisting himself as far as he could, and found its source. To his left, a fine thread of white light outlined what had to be a closed door.

The room smelled vaguely of hydraulic vapour, and metal, with a crackling undertone of electrified wires. It was silent save for an incessant mechanical hum that, under different circumstances, Trip might have found comforting. 

He tried to move and found he could not — he was bound to a chair. Trip’s legs shot out straight forward, giving him a picture of the sort of elongated recliner that one might find in a dentist’s office. The straps felt like leather, though the telltale smell was conspicuously absent. Some sort of synthetic, then. 

Trip was functionally immobilized. He was also naked save for his Starfleet-issue blue briefs. He’d never thought much about the garments, but it was occurring to him now that they were rather skimpy. He wiggled his toes idly, suddenly glad for the darkness.

Trip’s heart quickened as he heard a voice beyond the room. He strained to hear, but whatever was being said didn’t sound like Federation Standard. Without the translator device that was as far as he’d get. 

Presently, the door that Trip had noticed slid open and the space was suddenly flooded with sharp white light. Blinking in pain, Trip tried desperately to keep his eyes open, to look upon his captor.

It was a man — or, at least, a bipedal humanoid. No ridges to speak of, though. At least, not anywhere visible. The alien wore a plain white tunic that covered their torso down to the upper part of their thighs. 

_Nice thighs._ Trip frowned inwardly as soon as he’d thought it.

Not exactly an appropriate reaction to the circumstances. He ought to be angry. The thought occurred to him that he may have been drugged. Trip drew in a breath, holding it in his diaphragm for a three-count.

The alien walked to the side of the chair and leaned forward. They raised a hand, letting their long fingers hover over Trip’s bare chest, flesh just barely making contact with the fine, curled hairs that grew there. Trip watched the alien carefully, trying not to flinch. The fingers pressed suddenly into his skin. They were warm, and slightly… _slick?_ Grinding his teeth, Trip dragged his focus back to the alien’s face. They had a dark complexion that Trip might have described as a golden purple, with smooth, delicate features. The nose was barely a bump in the centre of the face. The eyes were a uniform milky blue that in a human would have indicated blindness — but these eyes clearly saw. Trip couldn’t say why, but he had the impression that these eyes could perceive far more than any human would ever hope to. The engineer’s breath caught in his throat. He coughed. 

The alien drew back, looking at him with an expression best described as quizzical.

“Look, uh… are you going to buy me dinner first, or what?”

No response. 

_Okay, wrong approach. Jesus, Tucker, get a hold of yourself!_

“Pal, I don’t how they do it around here, but where I come from, we tend to at least exchange pleasantries before we start strapping people to chairs.”

A brief flash of memory accompanied his statement, and Trip’s cheeks felt suddenly hot. He gritted his teeth as he felt blood being relocated to places that he definitely did not want it at the moment.

The alien angled its smooth face. Trip jerked his chin downward and saw what he already knew; that his cock was beginning to stiffen fractionally under the blue skivvies. 

Trip had always had his kinks — _quirks,_ as one ex girlfriend had referred to them. He liked being restrained, and… hurt. But he’d only ever been able to indulge such interests in calculated, pre-scripted and agreed-upon scenes. He’d figured being strapped down and abused was something he’d only really enjoy if he was, ultimately, the one in control. 

_And yet…_

The alien placed his hand against Trip’s chest again, and Trip gasped as he felt the shockwave roll through his dick.

 _God, T’Pol, if you’re coming to rescue me, I… I can explain…_ he thought absurdly. He was at half-mast now, and he knew it would take something significant to talk him down from this point.

The alien seemed to have other plans. The fingers withdrew again, and as Trip watched, they turned and went to a small table a few feet in front of the chair. At once, the alien’s form took on the watery, impermanent appearance of melting wax, its parts becoming malleable, changing before Trip’s eyes. A moment later the creature was reconstituted and turning back toward their patient. Trip was now staring up at the unmistakable form of a human woman. She -- _they?_ \-- had thick brunette hair, striking brown eyes, and a pair of breasts that Trip was pretty sure he’d dreamt about more than once as a teenager. 

“Hey, listen,” said Trip carefully. “I… I don’t know what’s goin’ on here but I think there’s been some sort of a misunderstanding…”

No response. The alien walked forward and Trip realized that they were holding a small metallic instrument — long and narrow, something like a scalpel with a hooked end. The alien seemed to hesitate slightly, then, with fingers now delicate and soft, raked the instrument across Trip’s chest. 

It didn’t break the skin, but it left a lovely red mark and a stinging line of pain that eradicated any hope Trip had of losing his erection. With their free hand, the alien touched Trip’s cock unabashedly through the briefs. The touch was so soft as to be barely noticeable under normal circumstances, but it still made Trip’s cock jerk with excitement. The engineer gave a tiny, whimpering moan and nearly strained his wrist in an attempt to cover his mouth; he’d forgotten about the restraints. 

“Please, I…” The instrument came down again. This time the hook dug slightly deeper, and though it still didn’t break the skin, the mark it left was angrier. Swollen. Trip moaned, shutting his eyes as the burning sensation trailed across his chest, pain and sex mingling in his voice. “Ah… what’s the big idea, huh?” His voice was husky with arousal, now, and he knew he stood zero chance of being released out of mercy.

When he opened his eyes Trip saw that the alien had moved back to the table. He craned his neck, trying to see. He needn’t have worried — in a moment he felt the restraints around his wrists begin to float free from the arms of the chair, rising toward the ceiling, dragging his wrists and arms along with them. 

He twisted, panicking, as his hands flew languidly over his head, forcing his arms to straighten. Soon his torso, then his entire body was upright, his wrists now bound together directly above his head. 

The alien had turned again and was now pacing in a lazy circle around Trip’s helpless form. They were wearing their original form again, and Trip watched as they bent to fasten another set of restraints around his ankles. 

Then, in one swift, unexpected movement, the alien straightened, hooked their fingers around the waistband of Trip’s briefs, and yanked them off. 

Trip wanted to cry out, but he couldn’t identify the emotion behind the impulse. He couldn’t say he felt embarrassed — sexual desperation was quickly overtaking that emotion. The room wasn’t particularly cold. If the alien intended to hurt him, well… this seemed an awfully roundabout way to do it. 

He held his breath, watching as the alien examined his cock clinically from every angle. 

“Hey, take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he said weakly. 

If the alien heard him, they gave no indication. A soft touch with a single finger sent a lightning bolt through Trip. He wondered hazily if the alien’s skin was electrified. Those oddly slick fingers wrapped around his shaft, holding him still for a tantalizing moment before stroking slowly. Once, _twice…_ Trip threw his head back, squeezing his eyes shut in pleasure. 

_What if I…?_

The sensation stopped abruptly. Frustration rushed through Trip’s veins.

It was quickly replaced with that kind of giddy, bubbling anger that always came with being struck suddenly. Something heavy and flat slapped into Trip’s bare ass cheeks and this time he _did_ cry out. In pain or in pleasure, he couldn’t say.

The alien was less tentative with this instrument, whatever it was. The restraints held Trip remarkably still as the alien delivered another blow, and another. With each one, Trip could feel the skin of his ass growing red and warm, and his cock growing somehow harder. He strained against the restraints, bucking his hips in involuntary desperation as if empty air could offer some purchase. God, if someone or something didn’t touch him soon…

As if on cue, the restraints around his ankles suddenly began drifting apart, dragging Trip’s ankles away from each other, forcing his legs open. He felt something cool and wet, like a vine, snake over the flesh of his inner thighs, wrapping around them, brushing against his painfully tightened balls as it went. He moaned and panted, sweating now, desperate for even the tiniest touch. 

He dared to glance down and saw that the things around his thighs were like headless snakes; smooth, fleshy, lubricated tentacles. Trip yelped as he felt one of them force its way easily between his ass cheeks, probing his hole. At the same time, another tentacle snaked forward to twist itself around his cock. 

Trip whined like a dog, humping the air and discovering in dismay that the tentacle wrapped around his shaft moved in rhythm, negating any possible friction.

Stillness overtook the room. The only sound was Trip’s laboured breathing. Then, again without warning, pain flashed through the engineer’s body. 

The impact this time felt somehow sharper and more dispersed. Shimmering rivulets of agony raked across Trip’s back, and he was reminded of a weighted leather flogger that he’d owned back on Earth.

Smashing, cutting pain came again and again, the stinging reprieve between each blow just long enough to allow Trip’s focus to drift back to his cock, which was straining and weeping with precum.

He gasped as, in unison with another blow, he felt the tentacle slide evenly into his asshole, slowly, but with purpose, curling inward as it reached its depth and seeming to inflate. Trip huffed out a quick series of confused, frightened breaths. He hovered on the knife’s edge between absolute pleasure and total agony, knowing that it would take only one infinitesimally small motion to nudge him toward either extreme, knowing that the alien — whom he could no longer see, and whom he had to assume was no longer pleasingly familiar in form — was in complete power.

“Okay, okay,” he huffed. “I surrender. I don’t know what you want from me but… but please, just… _please…_ ”

He didn’t know what else to say. The tentacle in his asshole probed deeper and began to pump in and out, slowly, picking up speed at intervals.

 _Fucking… ah… oh_ god, _fuck me, yes, yes…_

“ _Please,_ please, please, pleaseplease…” Trip repeated the word until it stopped making sense, until he could barely pronounce it, until...

The tentacle around his cock shifted, and began to drag back and forth over his shaft.

Trip moaned aloud, and it struck him absurdly as a sound he’d heard a woman make, while he was inside her. While he fucked her.

He ground his hips into the air, fucking the twisted, wet tentacle. 

“Oh… ah… ah… I’m… ah… _aah!_ ”

Trip came forcefully as the alien continued to fuck and stroke him. He yelled, then moaned, then shuddered as ribbons of hot, white ejaculate burst from his cock and spattered over the purple tentacles, the floor, and his thighs. When it was over Trip was dimly aware of the tentacles relinquishing their hold on him, leaving him suspended and limp, still panting. 

It was several minutes before he regained his faculties, and when he did, he looked up to see the alien in their original, bipedal humanoid form, their back to Trip, tapping something onto a data pad. 

“What… the _hell?_ ” Trip gasped, not really expecting an answer. 

The alien turned, then went to him and knelt to unclasp the ankle restraints. 

“Thanks,” Trip said viciously, his sense of embarrassment returning with force. “And while you’re at it, a towel would be much appreciated.”

The alien straightened, cocked its head again in that quizzical way, and pulled something from an unseen pocket of their tunic. Trip eyed the object -- it was some kind of remote control. The alien depressed one of the buttons on the device and Trip was suddenly blinded by a flash of white light. He felt a tingling heat envelope his exhausted body. 

_This is it, then. All that and I get vapourized!_ He shut his eyes, thinking vaguely about T’Pol.

A moment later he began to wonder just how long it took to be vapourized, and opened them again. 

He was alone in the room. The door was shut, and the alien had disappeared. He was standing on his feet -- his wrists had been released. He was clean, and on the seat behind him, his Starfleet uniform -- complete with blue skivvies -- was folded neatly. 

Trip glanced around frowning. 

“What the _hell,_ ” he repeated, under his breath.


End file.
